Where It Ends
by Missgoldy
Summary: The coordinates were too good to be true; the mission doomed from the start. Poe leads the resistance blindly into battle; unprepared for the firepower that decimates their fleet. Injured and captured by the First Order, Rey awaits her fate within her icy prison cell.
1. Chapter 1

The information is fake; she's sure of that. The coordinates are far too convenient. The attack is poorly planned. Even a non-military nobody like herself is aware of the red flags waving perilously close to Poe's smug, certain face.

General Organa expresses doubt and uncertainty, but once again, Poe insists on charging in like a wounded bull, bringing with him all the firepower available to the resistance.

His intentions are clear. Her intentions are not, but she keeps this knowledge well-hidden.

Poe craves glory. She craves peace.

Poe is reckless. She is bound by cautiousness.

Poe seeks retribution. She strives for salvation.

The strike force is assembled. The troops are gathered; young and eager. Some are barely out of their teens. Their faces reflect the nervous excitement growing around the room.

Poe leaves, and they all follow blindly; like lambs to the slaughter.

* * *

Transporters fall from the sky by the dozen; shot down by the imperial gun-ships lying in wait. It's a blood bath — an absolute ambush of death and destruction. She pilots their own doomed freighter recklessly, dodging tie-fighters and constant canon blasts assaulting the hull. The controls shudder and lurch in her hands as she screams at Finn locked away in the gunner bay, imploring him to do something.

Finn hollers back with foul language unbecoming of a former storm-trooper. R2-D2 whirls around frenetically; squawking loudly as he works to extinguish the electrical fires sparking in the engine bay.

A final blast renders them incapacitated. She sucks in a harsh breath; her eyes wide with fear as the freighter's engines finally give out. Chewie gives a roar of frustration as they crest for a moment amongst the stars glittering so brightly around them.

The momentum falters.

She curses that old-age proverb from her childhood; rendered mostly ineffective now by centuries of lightspeed advancements and gravitational capabilities.

 _What goes up, must come down._

Chewbacca's large hands smash violently over hers, almost crushing the fingers still clutched over the control yoke as they begin the shuddering downward descent. The planet below comes frighteningly into focus; growing larger as they plummet towards it.

Chewie's pulling back on the controls with all his might in a last-ditch attempt to get the nose up, and she lunges forward to help. He shoves her back into her seat; snarling at her to buckle up, and for once she obliges, her trembling fingers fumbling to snap the harness into place.

She tears her gaze upwards. A magnificent sea of green and white greets her through the viewing window, curved and peripheral. It would be a beautiful sight, if she weren't hurtling towards the planet at breakneck speed. She grips the dashboard until her knuckles turn white; shrieking Finn's name.

Chewie gives another almighty howl as something else smashes into them, something large; perhaps a downed resistance transporter. She screams as her body whips painfully to the right with the impact. The safety harness bites painfully into her skin as she's flung around the cockpit like a rag doll.

Her co-pilot is no longer at the controls; having been thrown across the cockpit. He lies crumpled and unconscious on the floor; his body sliding out of sight as the vehicle lurches thunderously once again.

She's alone in the cockpit now; the constant rattle caused by their growing momentum the only accompaniment to her shallow, ragged breathing.

"Finn?" she shrieks, twisting and searching for evidence of anyone still conscious. "FINN!"

All is quiet in the turret below.

They hit Ilan's atmosphere. The turbulence is unbearable. The jagged mountains are visible; frighteningly close, now. There's no escaping the inevitable. She gives a final, desolate scream; throwing her arms up in front of her face as she braces for impact.

The window blows out and her world turns pure, vivid white.

* * *

"FINN!" she screams; staggering free from the shattered windows of the cockpit. Her vision is tinged with red; oozing blood escaping from the cuts embedded within her cheek and hairline. She wraps her robes tighter around her, searching blindly for someone still alive within the smoking wreckage.

"CHEWIE!"

Nothing; just the howling winds and shards of ice buffeting her body painfully.

She spins around wildly; gazing upward and leaning against her quarterstaff for support. Sonic booms rent the air; accompanied by the unmistakable sound of engines failing. Another downed vehicle is falling from the sky, beginning it's almost graceful descent.

And she's running, now, dragging herself through the snow and ice in an effort to reach the crushed gunner turret.

Dropping to her knees; she digs out the debris with her hands, clawing through the ice until the turret windows are unearthed. Glass and ice are intermingled amongst debris. She barely registers the pain; her hands numb as she works breathlessly; the snow turning pink beneath her touch.

Poe's jacket is the first thing she sees; stretched tightly across Finn's unmoving shoulders. He gives a faint groan and her heart sings with joy. She wriggles herself in through the largest gap and unlatches the safety harness as another loud boom echoes nearby.

"GET UP!" she shrieks, pulling and dragging him with all her might. She has no idea where Chewbacca is, but Finn is here and he's warm and he's alive. "FINN!"

His limp body slides free of the turret just as a fireball engulfs the mountainside to their left. A blast of heat hits her, along with debris flying violently in all directions. Twisted metal is flung lethally close as she staggers towards the tree line, supporting Finn with one arm and glancing back as another resistance transporter loses it's battle to stay in the air.

The impact is earth-shattering. The shock-wave sends them both airbourne. She loses her hold on Finn, slamming into the snow at breakneck speed. She bounces several times, landing painfully on her ass.

She lay stunned; too winded to move. Red and orange now color her vision. Blood and fire; life and death. Elements shared by both the light and the dark side of the force. Mocking her. Whispering to her. Calling to her with the promise of power.

Demanding that she choose.

Movement. Footsteps. Low, muffled voices.

She pushes herself up into a sitting position; dizzy and confused. Finn's still body lies to her left. She senses his life force, however; ebbing and flowing weakly within him.

More footsteps. She reaches for her staff, fingers outstretched; summoning it with all her might.

She knows what's coming. The butt of the blaster strikes the back of her head with lethal efficiency.

Rey slumps forward. She knows no more.

* * *

The walls are filthy. There are indentations and pockmarks present, as well as random names scrawled heavily into the bedrock. She suspects they're the evidence of the thousands of people who have traipsed through this place, those feeling the need to leave some everlasting legacy of their existence before they succumb to the inevitable.

An etched name catches her eye and she gazes at it forlornly, tracing the roughened texture with the pad of her finger, blinking away the weariness. The hopelessness and despair. The worry.

Low moans and cries of pain rent the air; able to be heard even through the dense stone walls.

She sees without sight. She feels without touching. Darkened rooms beyond view, yet visible due to the threads of power weaving around her and through her.

The Force grants her a glimpse of images she neither wants nor asks for — hidden rooms within this icy prison. Pompous officers overseeing teams of indifferent stormtroopers and an unfortunate, tortured soul. Those so-called traitors to the cause — her friends — who now beg and plead for mercy.

Her resolve strengthens. She will never bow to them. They will never see her cry.

She sits huddled in the corner; her knees pressed tightly against her chest, rocking back and forward. It's a self-soothing mechanism learnt from childhood, designed to comfort but bringing none of the warmth she so desperately craves.

It's cold here. So cold. Her tired gaze falls to the motionless lump clad in rags in the far corner; her fellow cellmate. The nameless lump hasn't moved since she was first dragged in here seven moons ago.

Her trusty quarterstaff lies splintered and broken into a dozen pieces just beyond her reach. It has withstood so many dings, breaks and bumps over the years; bound back together with an almost revered diligence.

No amount of binding or reparation will restore it. She almost laughs at the absurdity of it.

Several shadows pass under the door, lingering for a moment and moving away just as quickly.

They don't quite know what to do with her.

The storm troopers are frightened of her. After all, Snoke supposedly died by her hand alone. Her reputation precedes her.

They're waiting for something… or perhaps someone.

And so she waits, too.

* * *

Ten moons, now. No company. No word from the outside. No knowledge of her friends and colleagues whereabouts or condition. Little to consume; other than the scraps of food shoved unceremoniously through the door, or the ice collecting in the corners of her cell. It melts within her filthy hands, providing a much-needed supply of water.

Her senses are heightened; acutely aware of every cry and scream and groan that resonates from beyond these walls. Fear threatens to overwhelm her and she punches it back, strengthening her resolve as she wraps her robes around herself in an effort to stave off the bone-shattering cold.

 _He_ hasn't made contact. She wonders if he's here.

She wonders if he's coming.

They won't break her.

This is where it ends.

 **Authors Note:**

I'm trying something different. After nearly 20 years writing for a quiet but beautifully loyal fandom, I'm cautiously dipping my pinkie toe into the waters of the Star Wars Universe. I really enjoyed writing this. This will be a Reylo fic. It will get quite dark and ominous, but that's my writing preference and I make no apologies for that. Be kind, I was really nervous posting this!


	2. Chapter 2

She forces her eyes open; her movements slow and sluggish. She raises a trembling hand, blinking questioningly at the odd, blurry limb in front of her. It seems foreign to her. A strange disassociation affects her as she clenches and unclenches her pale fist slowly; yet when she flexes her fingers, a bright spectrum of colours burst forth.

She tilts her head, fascinated by what she's seeing. Unsure of what concoction of drugs they're forcing into her body, however she suspects the dosage would be enough to incapacitate a herd of banthas. Her cell mate is gone. She certainly doesn't mourn his absence. The rotting corpse wasn't much of a conversationalist, anyway.

Her parched lips move soundlessly, speaking his name now. Calling him forth with a desperate need as the loneliness and isolation begin seeping into her bones. She has nothing left to lose.

The Supremacy. The battle of Crait. The connection between them — it seems like a distant memory.

She was the first to back down; the first to block the connection, to order him from her mind. She chose to shut him out at the time, but by God, she's willing him back now with every ounce of her being.

The bastard's not reciprocating.

 _Please, step back inside my head, Ben, by all means. Wipe your feet upon entering._

Rey giggles deliriously, but the revelry fades just as quickly. She slumps forward against her chains; pressing her hands to her head in an effort to control the shaking. Wondering if throwing herself into the Resistance and their plans was a tad presumptuous.

Her thoughts turn to Finn and Chewbacca, wondering if they're here. Praying that they are safe. The term _friend_ had previously never been part of her vocabulary. She's known nothing but struggle and survival on Jakkuu. Kill or be killed. Eat or be eaten.

Loyalty and trust are a novelty to her; yet they are traits she desperately desires to hold onto.

She closes her eyes for a while; seeking sanctuary.

* * *

Footsteps tread heavily outside; moving with precision and purpose. She forces her bleary gaze upwards, eyeing the door with that strange sense of detachment that has clouded her mind over the past days of captivity. The door bursts open suddenly and a dozen stormtroopers rush in.

She assumes how this will ultimately go down, but she mentally unleashes whatever residual energy she has left. The first wave of troopers slump to the ground, clutching their heads in agony but the second wave leap over their twisted, writhing bodies.

She screams with rage as they advance upon her, falling forward and holding her down. She lashes out as yet another needle is hastily produced; one that will no doubt leave her compliant and incapacitated once again. It's administered with lethal efficiency. She feels the stab of the needle that plunges savagely into the base of her neck.

She howls in defeat amongst the sea of clattering armour surging around her.

* * *

Bright lights. Moisture. Noise.

Her feet skid and drag along the ground as her captors manhandle her towards the sterile room. Someone is being wheeled out; a prone body slumped and unconscious as droids bustle around busily within.

They're vacating the room for her.

 _Torture real-estate must be in high demand._

Another delirious thought, but her attention is now drawn elsewhere; hoping and praying for evidence of her friends. It takes every effort she has to raise her head, staring hard as the figure moves past.

Recognition dawns.

"Poe," she whispers; her arm and fingers outstretched as she tries to reach for him. She misses by inches. "Poe?"

They pass like ships in the night; the wheelchair emitting a metallic squeak as Poe's minder pushes him from view.

Her distraction proves painful. They shove her hard through the doorway and she's sent sprawling; her body slamming into the far wall.

She's eventually hauled to her feet and manhandled into a large metal seat with fixed arms. Restraints are fitted around her ankles and wrists, along with a wide strap that's tightened around her throat.

A bag is shoved loosely over her head, but their tinny voices can still be heard.

"Do we leave her —"

"The general wants her —"

"He's taking precautions, apparently." Someone pats her face through the bag in an almost condescending manner. "Don't see how a little girl like this warrants —"

"Frig off, buckethead," she murmurs tiredly; and is rewarded with a slap to the side of the head.

Their voices trail away, leaving her alone with her muddled thoughts once again.

* * *

The bag is reefed off. She winces, stunned by the blinding light directed towards her. Shadows move beyond it. Sweat drips from her face; a direct contrast to the cold of her cell. Lips parted, she looks around nervously; her movements restricted by the leather strap pressing too tight across her neck.

A figure advances; large and looming, clutching something metallic and rusted within his hand. She recoils in fear, pulling and bucking against the restraints desperately in an effort to escape the inevitable.

 _No, no, no, no…_

She feels something clamp down on her index finger. A sudden wrench; a cracking sound and her agonised screams soon fill the air.

She cries out, gulping shallow air into her lungs as another finger is clamped down. A stillness descends despite the second wretched break; a shadow in the far corner gaining definition as the rest of the room fades due to the pain and shock setting in to replace it.

Rage and confusion pulsates around her; concentrated in waves. Hatred and contempt flows from the source, but none of it is directed towards her.

As she passes into unconsciousness, the connection breaks.

* * *

"There were studies done."

A voice breaks through the drug haze. She groans from her prone position, slumped forward in the same restraints as before. She's soaking wet. A bucket lies discarded, overturned. Her eyes pass over the twisted, misshapen fingers and she looks away quickly, unable to bare it.

The man shrugs. He stands suddenly, dragging his chair over and the sound of metal on tile assaults her eardrums. She grits her teeth, stifling a sob.

"Studies on the effectiveness of forced coercion in force-sensitive individuals. Test subjects. Palpatine was one of the first to introduce the theory."

"What?" she moans, annoyed and doing her best to work through the pain. "What are you —"

"The dark path," the man explains. He leans forward, pressing his hands together and eyeing her with unabashed interest. "The idea that one truly has no control over the path they take. That channelling negativity, pain and rage in subjects can result in a planned outcome that's beneficial to…"

"To who?" she snaps.

"To whomever." He shrugs nonchalantly, reaching out and wiping a bead of sweat tracking down her forehand. "Nothing personal."

"You'll forgive me for taking no comfort in that," she retorts through gritted teeth.

His nose crinkles as he looks her over carefully. "You smell like piss."

"Who's fault is that!" she snarls.

His lips curl into a smile. "You're a feisty one."

"Where are my friends?"

"Your friends?" He raises an arched eyebrow. "What? You mean those rebel traitors to the cause?"

"Where —"

"They're around," he says, and she knows he'll give her nothing more.

He's tall and thin, with sandy red hair and a look of ruthless ambition. His clothing suggests a general's rank at the very least, and Rey draws forth a name and vague description from the depths of her memories; overheard during battle plans and preparations.

"Hux," she whispers. "You're Hux."

"One and the same," he says. He gives her a wry smile, nodding towards her mangled fingers. "I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances —"

"Where's Ren?" She looks around, recalling sensing his presence during the interrogation. "Where's your so-called supreme –"

"Overseeing some so-called counter-attacks on the resistance fleet in —"

"Does he know I'm here," she breathes. "Am I here on his orders? Are you doing this —"

"Let's talk about the throne room," he interrupts, and she knows the question is already dead in the water. "You decimated Snoke, a room full of highly trained guards and put Kylo Ren down with ruthless efficiency. You —"

"I owe you nothing," she whispers. "I —"

"Did Ren kill Snoke himself?" He leans forward, his hand menacingly close to her injured fingers. "Did Ren betray the Order?"

She glares back at him. "Would it matter if he did?"

"Just tell me."

The weak strands of the force grant her an insight into this man. He's all pomp and ceremony, but the act is a façade. His eyes betray him — a nervous and crawling little rodent, a snivelling bureaucrat craving power when he's done little to deserve it. She slumps back against the seat at the realisation occurs to her.

"You're scared of him," she whispers. "You're scared of all of us."

He jumps to his feet, sending the chair he was sitting on skittering across the floor. She's touched a nerve.

"You —"

"Just kill me and get it over with," she says with a resigned sigh, turning away. Unconsciousness is calling and she's more than willing to give herself over to it.

"I don't plan to kill you, little girl," he says, smiling. He pats her on top of the head, and she wonders if condescending assholes are the flavour of the month here. "But you will suffer. I have great plans for you."

With that he straightens, adjusting his jacket and giving her a cursory glance.

"Busy little bees with busy little plans." His voice rings out cheerily down the corridor as he leaves. Four burly storm troopers soon take his place, and she's quickly released and hefted back to her cell.


	3. Chapter 3

The plate contains nothing but scraps, but she shuffles forward regardless, emptying the contents within her robes and flinging the plate full-pelt at the retreating trooper. It hits the mark; bouncing off his suit with an all-to-pleasing _thwack,_ before clattering and rolling out of sight.

The storm trooper barely finches, passing through the entrance and slamming the door shut behind him, muttering under his breath.

Rey kicks uselessly against the chain she's currently tethered to. It's secured to a bolt around her ankle; heavy and unwieldly. She stares down at the items that fill her robe. She's hungry, so she will eat what's provided. The food is bland and tasteless, yet it fills her empty stomach enough to stave off the hunger pangs for a while.

Rey slumps to the floor; staring blankly ahead and still avoiding her swollen, misshapen fingers.

She waits.

* * *

It's the same questions being asked — over and over again. She gives the pompous bastard the same answers.

Only the accompanying insults change.

Hux seems both surprised and mortally offended by the colorful language spewing from her mouth; but it's currently the only weapon available at her disposal. She wasn't raised by gentle hands; she was raised amongst liars, cheats, scoundrels and criminals.

She knows nothing of love and family; of the social norms that are expected of her, determined by her gender.

He repeats the same questions from yesterday… and the day before… and the day before that.

She calls him a bantha's ass.

The mortified expression (and resulting beat-down) is worth it.

* * *

Time passes slowly. It's almost cruel.

Barely any light touches the surface of her new cell. It's a novel form of torture; not knowing whether it's day or night beyond the confines of these walls. Her body craves sleep, yet her mind wanders aimlessly.

The rags are beginning to hang from her wasted body. A persistent wheeze is present; courtesy of the heavy, frigid air passing through her lungs. The oxygen deprivation adds to the disassociation she already feels; provided by the drugs pulsing through her system.

She lies still and unmoving; cradling her wretched fingers within the folds of her robe. The pain is constant; yet she doesn't have the courage to remedy the dislocations. Besides, the new cuts and bruises have provided a welcome distraction.

Stifling a sigh, she curls onto her side, staring into the black nothingness beyond. Steeling herself for what's coming next.

They may break her bones, but they won't break her spirit.

* * *

"Just think," Hux goads. "The rebellion's golden child — twisted and transformed into a force to be reckoned with —"

"Go to hell," she whispers from her tethered position. She juts her chin out defiantly as he circles her; like a bird of prey ready to strike. There's yet another bag over her head, but she can still make out the shadows of those in the room with her. "Where's Ren?"

"Still on Corellia," he says absently. "Carving a path of death and destruction —"

"Am I here on his orders?"

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him," he says with a chuckle. "But the team of assassins I have waiting to bury him most likely will."

The pieces of the puzzle all fall together. She understands everything in that moment, and the knowledge leave her deeply unsettled.

"You could be something great," he says, leaning forward; and she senses he's almost nose to nose with her now. "We could be a force to be reckoned with."

She snorts derisively. "We?"

He shrugs. "With you by my side —"

She almost laughs at that. "You have no foreseeable talents other than looking like a snivelling, underqualified fool."

The low chuckle of a storm trooper sounds nearby.

All falls silent.

Rey holds her breath; tense and waiting for the retaliatory blow.

She's hauled to her feet. She feels Hux; pressed tall and firm behind her; towering over her small frame. An arm wraps across her chest; an almost loving embrace if her skin weren't crawling from the contact.

"I know my place in all this. I have a destiny. You will join us."

The voice is uncomfortably close; spoken softly in her ear with the intensity and tone of a lover.

She moves to argue, but she senses movement around her. A bulky white shape lumbers forward; and the bag over her head is ripped off and tossed aside. She shrinks back as a rod is raised in front of her frightened eyes; it's tip glowing red and lethal.

 _Oh god, no. No, no…_

A violent stabbing motion. The rod pierces the skin below her left collarbone. She screams in agony; jerking wildly, but Hux holds her firm. The smell of burning flesh soon fills the air.

Two seconds… three seconds… four seconds as she shrieks; her voice now hoarse and breaking. The rod is finally withdrawn and Hux releases her, shoving her forward. Rey spins, collapsing to the floor, unable to support her own body weight as she twitches and moans in agony.

"You're all alone, girl." His voice retreats as she sobs desolately on the cold tiles, breaking her nails on the tiles as she scratches and claws the ground. "You could be something great. Stop fighting it."

* * *

Her face is wet with tears; her body still shaking from the shock and trauma. The burn mark is on the opposite side to her broken hand, so her attempts to pack ice onto the wound is a lost cause.

She bursts into tears again; great, hitching sobs overtaking her body. Trembling with the effort, she raises her knees, curling into a foetal position. The pain is intense and unyielding, and there is no sign of it going away any time soon.

The air trembles and a sense of calm descends over her. A faint, high-pitched note rings in her ears. There's movement behind her and she wipes her face, turning her head and noting the faint glow of a pair of combat boots some feet from her face.

She glances up, blinking at the cowled face angled down toward her. The figure sinks to his knees, removing the hood from his battle-worn face; yet she already knows who it is.

His black hair falls longer now, down to his shoulders. It's been several months since she saw him.

Kylo Ren's face is cold and still; his mouth set in a hard line. Blood stains his hands and cowl. His eyes are dark and troubled; his scar cutting a jagged path down the side of his face. He seems wary as he glances around briefly, before settling his gaze on her again.

Rey grits her teeth in an effort to sit up. He makes no attempt to help her. It takes several wobbly tries before she's finally upright, propped up by her good hand and glaring at him with barely restrained fury.

"You took your time," she hisses, wincing. Her throat has yet to recover from the vocal pounding it received earlier. "Are you proud? Have you —"

"Who brought you here?" he asks in a barely restrained voice. His eyes have settled on the singed and weeping sore visible through the large hole in her robes. The swell of her left breast is also visible and she quickly covers herself up, glaring at him. He doesn't seem to notice. "Who did this?"

"Shouldn't you already know?" She stifles a sob, still so bitter and angry at his absence — even though he owes her nothing. "It's not all part of the plan, almighty Supreme Leader?"

Her cutting tone does little to admonish him."Who did this?"

She stares at him defiantly. "Hux."

"He wouldn't dare," Ren says evenly, glancing around again. "I didn't authorise this."

"No longer in control?" She laughs bitterly, sinking back with a pained sigh. "Hux is after your job, by the look of it."

"The man can't tie his own shoes," he sneers. "He doesn't have the power to —"

She motions her mangled hand towards him, and he pales even further. "The evidence proves otherwise."

He appears shocked and bewildered by her appearance. She takes little comfort in this knowledge. Knowing his background and propensity for violence, the irony of his reaction doesn't escape her, either. "You've slaughtered so many poor souls over the years, yet you don't have the stomach for this?"

He doesn't have an answer to that, and Rey doesn't demand one.

He removes his gloves and leans forward, reaching for her hand. She reefs it away in a panic, lashing out with her remaining limb in a laughably feeble attempt to dislodge him.

"Stay still," he mutters.

"Don't," she begins, starting to cry again and hating herself for it. He shakes his head, grasping her wrist and pulling it towards his chest. His hand is surprisingly warm and gentle as it runs down the length of her palm, and she knows what he's about to do.

"Count to three," he commands, tightening his grip and readying himself. "This —"

"They're going to kill you," she blurts out, not knowing which monster deserves to have the upper hand, but she presses on regardless. "Hux has sent —"

He finally meets her eyes. "I know."

His hand presses hard against her mouth to stifle any forthcoming sound. He works quickly. Two sharp motions is all it takes as she screams into his palm. It hurts, but it's a good hurt; tendons straining and blood already beginning to circulate around the numb and swollen fingers. She takes a moment to compose herself. Still swollen, but they're at least pointing in the right direction. She flexes her fingers weakly, inspecting his handiwork.

Rey doesn't thank him, but the formidable Kylo Ren isn't the type to expect or demand gratitude.

"I tried to find you," she murmurs, wrapping the end of her robe tightly around her fingers. The relief is welcome and immediate, and she can almost forget the deep wound throbbing idly on her upper chest. "I tried to make contact. Why didn't —"

"I don't owe you anything," he says angrily, rising to his feet with surprising speed. He straightens, glaring down at her. "What do you expect from me? You made it perfectly clear you were done with —"

"I expect nothing," she says tiredly. "You seek glory through the pain and submission of others. Why should I be treated any differently?"

His shoulders are squared. He takes several steps back, and she can sense the frustration flowing through him.

"You were hidden from me."

As the pain begins to subside, so does he. His form is already beginning to fade. She slumps back against the wall again, letting the words sink in.

"Why?"

He's already gone from her sight.


	4. Chapter 4

And so it goes; the constant rotation of drugs, interrogations and rough treatment. Her mind is a colourful kaleidoscope of colours and muddled thoughts. Some days are better than others. The words aren't always coming to her when she needs them. She's easily confused; slow to react and sluggish in her movements. Her reflexes are atrocious.

There's an ache deep within her bones. The cold is unnatural. Her thoughts turn to the others often. Rey wonders if they're okay. She wonders if Finn is here. She wonders if Poe has survived. She wonders if dear, sweet Rose is mourning them; hopefully tucked up tightly and safely within her cot.

She mourns Chewbacca's absence above all others. He's become like a substitute father to Rey over the past year; cranky, aggressive and fiercely over-protective to a fault.

She wonders if he survived the crash. Is he's worried about her? Does he seek her out, or has he also become a permanent fixture of the putrid cells that are hidden below the surface of Ilan? Or perhaps his body still lies within the crashed Falcon — broken and bleeding. Bloated, disfigured and crawling with minute flesh-eating organisms that will consume his fetid corpse as the stench of death and decay...

 _No._

She shuts off her mind as the images become too much to bare. They filter through occasionally; her thoughts turning to darkness and death with startling ease, almost like the flick of a switch. It's shockingly profound, the intensity in which they come. The images dance within her mind like a flickering holo. They call to her, beckon to her with an almost seductive clarity.

She sighs, scraping together some ice and packing it onto the stinging burn-mark scorched onto her upper chest. Gritting her teeth, she waits it out until the pain subsides.

* * *

"Do you have a family out there?"

Hux asks the question almost casually; as if they were perched together on barstools in a distant cantina, perhaps sharing a meal and a drink. Getting to know one another; nervous conversation and awkward exchanges.

Her current situation couldn't be any more different. There's nothing awkward about this. There's rage, pain and terror… but not awkwardness.

"Parents? Siblings?"

She feels his presence close behind her. His belt buckle nudges the small of her back as she squirms uncomfortably on the stool, clad only in a loose singlet and underwear. Her wrists are bound above her head to a hook hanging from the ceiling. Each ankle is tied to one of the legs.

She's alone with him. She almost wishes there were storm troopers present.

His behaviour is almost predatory. He trails a light finger over her bare arm; rubbing the loose fabric hanging from her shoulders. Her robe and clothing lay discarded in a puddle in the corner. Hux is eyeing her with unabashed interest.

She knows that look. She's seen that look before, from the countless cocky flyboys who used to pass through Jakku, trying to take liberties from the seemingly naïve scavenger girl. The young boys and men who thought they had a right to claim her body as their own.

They learned quickly not to underestimate her. Here in this place, however — Rey is woefully out of her depth.

"Husband?"

Wrenching away, Rey takes a shuddering breath as Hux's fingers curl around the loose tendrils escaping her hair. He's surprisingly gentle, stroking the side of her dirty face with the back of his hand.

He crouches down behind her; his face close to hers; almost cheek to cheek. She can feel his warm breath on her neck; and it makes the ice and frigid cold all the more uncomfortable.

"Unlimited power. Everything you could ever need or want at your disposal. Wealth. Glory. Respect —"

"Greed and betrayal ," she adds bitterly. "I know your kind. What makes you think I wouldn't cut you down the first moment I get?"

Hux chuckles. "I have control measures in place," he says absently, squeezing her shoulder. "I —"

Rey's heart skips a beat. "Like what?"

"Who trained you?"

She stares back at him defiantly. "Where are my friends?"

"Is your training complete?"

"Do you always appear to have a quarterstaff shoved up your —"

"Uncouth vermin," he bellows, jumping to his feet. "You —"

"And yet I'm the one beaten, burnt and tied to a chair," she shrieks. "You wish to talk about manners —"

His retaliation is brutal. Her head snaps back as a punch lands on her upper cheekbone. Hux paces for a moment, then angrily kicks the stool out from under her. Her legs are still tethered to the chair. Her body lurches; the chains jangling violently as her full body weight hangs by the wrists restrained above her. She struggles for a moment, hanging from the ceiling and trying to right herself.

Raising her knees, she tries to haul herself up and reset the stool in an upright fashion, but she doesn't have the energy or ability. She hangs helplessly instead, her face lowered and her cheek throbbing as she glares at Hux from beneath her lashes.

"You'll learn to be nicer to me," he says, and she can feel him close behind her again. "Before long, you'll be begging —"

"Blithering fool," she says sullenly, clenching her fists and raising herself in an effort to ease the pressure on her shoulders. "You know nothing of the force. You have no ability or connection with it in the slightest. You haven't earnt the right to make demands, yet you have the audacity to —"

"The Jedi are a dying race. The force will end with you, but there's work to be done first. I'm in no hurry, girl."

"Pathetic excuse for a —"

She trails off, alarmed to find his hand slipping beneath her tattered shirt. He cups her breast, and she recoils in a vain attempt to wrench free. "Get off me!"

He squeezes her briefly, before withdrawing his hand and giving her a hard shove. She swings idly, trying to lash out with her bound legs but she still can't lift the stool off the floor.

The door closes and she's on her own again.

* * *

Her shoulder joints and tendons are screaming. She's in absolute agony. Stifling a sob, Rey wipes her eyes on the inside of her arm, shivering uncontrollably. The minute wheeze has turned into a persistent throaty hack. Her hair lies lank and wet over her eyes and no amount of head tossing seems to remedy the situation.

So tired, but the position she's been left is not in the least bit conducive towards sleep. She hangs at an awkward position; unable to gain any footing but unable to release the pressure her arms and wrists are currently bearing.

She cries silently; cursing them, cursing _him_ , cursing the force. Cursing her wretched life and the decisions she made that caused her to be in this position in the first place.

She rests her face on her bare arm for a moment, mumbling an old chant from her childhood against her cool skin. Trying to distract herself.

A lone, silent ember falls close to her face; glowing orange. It flickers prettily in the air before fading out of sight. It's soon followed by another, and another, until the air seems filled with them. They continue falling around her.

Rey raises her weary head, looking around in confusion. She can feel the faint heat the embers bring, but their presence isn't comforting. A feeling of uncertainty and dread replaces the self-pity.

She narrows her eyes; no longer in the darkened cell, but in a thick, lush forest. Still rendered immobile; still tethered, but she's somewhere else, now. There's an inferno burning in the distance, blistering and cracking loudly.

Copious amounts of blood stain the ground within the clearing around her. Body parts are strewn haphazardly — an arm here, a head there. Bodies are present; pale faces frozen in an eternal scream. The bitter taste of copper hangs in the air.

Another body falls close by as an explosion rents the air; disturbing the trees nearby. The leaves shake and quiver, and Rey closes her eyes, feeling the effects of the blast. It's hot against her face, warming her bones and her soul, but it does little to quell the sense of foreboding.

Something's wrong.

She clenches her fists and forces herself up with the last remnants of her energy, pulling on the chains with all her might to get a clearer view.

Someone bolts past in a panic. A man blunders through the foliage. There's a harsh whizzing noise, followed by a red, blinding light spinning lethally through the air. The mystery man is cleaved in half before her eyes. What's left of him topples to the ground, along with the weapon that killed him.

It's a crossguard lightsaber. She's seen it before; having been on the receiving end of its lethal efficiency more than once. It lies blackened and damaged; it's red beam sparking in a manner it shouldn't. It flickers for a few more moments before extinguishing completely.

Movement distracts her and she looks up; breathless as a figure lurches and weaves towards her. He's hunched over, clutching his chest; his robes still smouldering amongst the carnage he moves through.

"Ben?" she whispers, eyeing him with terror. She can feel the pain and shock radiating through him. "Ben?"

He's burnt; his saber hand and arm blackened beyond recognition. He stumbles, falling to his knees and hunching over, his fingers clawing the earth as he bellows through the pain. He's in a bad way, gravely injured.

She recoils when she sees his face. His ear is completely missing. Blood drips down the side of his pallid face. There's a deep chest wound, perhaps from blaster fire.

"Ben?" she whispers.

"What?" he barks harshly, glaring at her, and she feels that bitterness and rage she knows so well coursing through his veins.

It occurs to her that she doesn't know what to say. She has nothing to add. Words of comfort and concern would not be appropriate. They're like two ships passing in the night, close enough to touch but far enough to curse and lament their mutual betrayals. She stares, unable to look away as he takes a shuddering breath and keels over sideways.

The forest fades to black and he's gone. The bodies are gone, the flames have disappeared but the smell of smoke remains on her clothes and skin. She can still taste the blood on her lips.

She's back to the awful pitch black nothingness.

 **Authors Note:**

Thank you so much to the lovely people who have reviewed. You guys are the reason I keep writing. Reviews are like oxygen to writers. It's the best gift or thank you you can give us.


	5. Chapter 5

Rey spends much of her time seeking evidence of her friends and colleagues. So much time within her putrid prison cell craving news of their whereabouts, desperate to know their condition.

She's woefully unprepared for the day they grant her wish.

It's done with no pomp or ceremony, yet the resulting memories are so much worse to live with. Seeing him again brings no relief or comfort whatsoever.

Rey doesn't rejoice when his bowed and crippled figure is hauled through her door; bare feet dragging through the muck.

She doesn't utter words of appreciation towards her captors when he's finally brought before her and revealed.

Rey can't bring herself to speak; staring in horror at his broken appearance; his eyes swollen shut and weeping. His nose is broken and bleeding profusely. They shove him to the ground mercilessly, giving him a kick to the ribs for good measure.

She starts to cry, bucking and twisting against the restraints that have held her dangling by the wrists for an impossible amount of time.

"BASTARDS!" she shrieks, near delirious with despair. "FINN!"

Hux enters the cell almost casually, closing the door behind him. He smirks, crossing his arms. A small portable device with two prongs is brought forward. Rey moans, grief-stricken as a trooper sinks down and jams the device between Finn's shoulder blades. The electrical current passes through him. He jerks and spasms uncontrollably; his face a mask of agony.

"STOP!" she screams, every tendon in her body straining. "JUST STOP IT! STOP IT!"

"THIS IS YOUR DOING!" Hux roars back, yet he's grinning widely. He snatches the prod and strides towards her; jamming it violently into the base of her neck. "YOU"RE ALL ALONE, GIRL! NO ONE IS COMING FOR YOU! YOU'VE BEEN ABANDONED —"

Exquisite pain travels through her as her body convulses beyond her control. It's like nothing she's ever felt before; white fire lighting her nerves and rendering her bladder incontinent. She screams louder, her voice wavering; cursing them deliriously, spitting venom as shock after shock is produced.

Hux looks positively gleeful. He seems overjoyed about something, his eyes bright and dancing. He eventually removes the prod, tossing it aside.

Rey slumps against the chains, barely conscious as Finn's still-twitching body is dragged back out the door. She feels a gloved hand under her chin as Hux lifts her face, forcing her to make eye contact.

"It's a wonderful day," he declares triumphantly, and for the first time Rey notices that the usual stiff, clean general's uniform and accompanying stripes are gone. Her heart sinks as she contemplates this knowledge. "The beginning of a new era."

"I'll kill you —" she gasps.

"I thought I'd be merciful," he goads, pinching her chin hard and wrenching her head to the side. "I've just been promoted, after all."

A storm trooper approaches and she recoils, expecting a blow. Keys jangling, the trooper works to unlock the tethers around her wrists and after several moments she's released. Rey crashes to the ground. Unable to lower her arms to break the rest of her fall, she topples over and face-plants heavily with a groan.

Hux straightens, motioning to a nervous-looking man standing just inside the doorway. "Set up a broadcast. I want to tell that vapid old bitch myself."

He strides away, tossing his black cape over his shoulder as the remainder of the room file out behind him.

* * *

Yet hours later as she lies on her side, moaning her way through the pain and constant hunger, she hears a ear-shattering bellow of pain that causes the fine hairs on the back of her neck to stand on end.

A lightsaber glows red, lighting up her cell. It's flung across the room; still sparking in that odd manner she saw earlier.

She raises her head blearily. Kylo Ren is crouched in the corner, his body shaking and clutching what is left of his arm. It's been cleaved off; the stump still raw, cauterised to just above his elbow. The blackened and shrivelled limb lies discarded beside him

She doesn't speak; too shocked to see him this way. He remains deathly silent as well, fixing her with his usual glare. They sit in a stubborn checkmate at opposite ends of the cell, a painful battle-of-wills.

He slumps back against the wall; but it's not her cell wall. She sees a small fire glowing. Twisted, gnarled roots are propped behind him, stretching up and towering beyond, almost cradling him within a wooden cocoon.

She wipes her face and eyes with the back of her hand and stares harder, finally understanding where he is.

Ren has found shelter inside a hollowed-out tree. She thinks it might be raining where he is. There's a soft patter of raindrops falling around him. She finds the sound soothing, giving her hope that life is indeed continuing outside of this windowless prison.

She suddenly has a million questions. She's pretty sure he won't be in the mood to answer them. Regardless of their circumstances, Rey is incapable of staying silent for long.

"Hux thinks you're dead."

"Maybe I am," he grunts, taking great care to wrap his cauterised arm with strips of torn fabric. "Gonna rip his face off with my bare —"

"What happened?"

"Isn't this what you want?" He eyes her sullenly. "Why do you care?"

"Well, evidently we have nothing better to do while we wait for death," she snaps.

He's quiet for a moment, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He looks haggard and deathly pale. His lips are almost blue. "I was ambushed."

"But you knew they were planning to —"

"I didn't know about the cloaked thermal detonators hidden inside my transport." He shifts painfully, lowering himself down onto his side. "There's always a brief delay between the flash and the —"

She stares at him, letting the news sink in. "How did you —"

"Realised what was happening. Was able to focus the blast into one concentrated area." He nods towards the stump. "Shockwave destroyed my ship, though."

"But they still think you're dead? You killed all —"

He closes his eyes. "They must have been a little pre-emptive in reporting my death on the ground."

"Hux has already assumed your role." She rubs her face tiredly, sinking back and stretching her screaming muscles. "He was about to make contact with your mother."

He hangs his head with a heavy sigh, as if the news troubles him more than his current circumstances. His hair falls over his eyes and she's reminded again of how terrible he looks. ""Probably for the best. I doubt she'll mourn my loss."

Rey begs to differ, but she doesn't mention it. "Will you return?"

"Stranded," he mumbles as he slumps further down; his body bowed at an uncomfortable angle. His words are barely comprehensible. "No way off this rock."

"Ben?" she says softly; strangely comforted by his presence and already mourning his impending departure. As the connection fades, Rey stands unsteadily and hobbles forward, fingertips outstretched as she seeks him out. "Don't go…"

He's gone.

* * *

She's left to her own devices for a while. There's celebrations going on throughout the ship, designed to mark the appointment of a new Supreme Leader. The only visits at present are from the droids injecting her full of drugs and the nervous man from Hux's last visit.

There's been a change of administration, but this man brings food more often than his predecessor, and for that she's thankful. Today he seems to waver at the doorway. He drops something quickly before he leaves, glancing furtively around as if worried about the consequences.

It's a blanket; thick and heavy, and she thinks she might cry due to this small act of kindness. She wraps it around her shoulders; warmed now as she tucks into the rations. She sighs; her belly somewhat full and satisfied.

Rey stands on shaky legs, gazing up at the ceiling as the loud revelling above threatens to implode in and around her.

* * *

"I think it's the drugs," she says finally, after another frustrating amount of time spent in this grim silence. He's rocking back and forth, appearing to work through the pain. "They've been pumping me full of them. It's masking the bond between us."

He ignores her, but she prattles on regardless, somewhat nervous in his presence.

"I think pain penetrates through," Rey continues, wrapping the blanket tighter around her shoulders. "That's my theory, anyway."

He turns away, resting his forehead on his remaining arm in a clear effort to drown her out.

"One of us needs to be in pain in order to re-establish the connection. I think it clears my mind of the drugs and refocuses me. It allows us to —"

"Do you ever shut up," he seethes quietly.

"No," she replies, indignant. "Why? Regretting that Snoke ever forced us into this mess?"

"Yeah," he replies tiredly with enough conviction to make her believe it. "You've got the social skills of a jabbering gungan."

She shrugs, fingering the blanket's loose threads currently woven through her fingers. "So used to being on my own. Forgot the sound of my own voice."

"Highly doubt that," he mutters.

She rolls her eyes at his unpleasantness. "How's your arm?"

"Dead and rotting."

She sighs, knowing the conversation is already over.

* * *

"Your lightsaber," she says, secretly pleased when he nearly trips, startled to see her. "It's not working properly?"

He gives a resigned huff, turning his back to her. "You again."

"Were you expecting someone else?" Rey raises her legs painfully, wrapping her arms around her knees and watching him forage through the forest one-handed for scraps. "Is it damaged?"

"What?"

She sighs, motioning towards the weapon on his hip. "Your lightsaber."

He shrugs, digging through the undergrowth and inspecting some lork roots protruding from the disturbed ground.

"How long have you been here?" she asks, curious. "I have no sense of time down here."

"Seven days," he replies as he pulls the roots from the earth. He pockets them and strides away.

She feels the pull as she follows him involuntarily, back towards the valley. She can see the transporter wreck on the horizon; but there is nothing but dense forest as far as the eye can see. There are no settlements, no signs of civilisation. No communication towers or transports within the atmosphere.

It's evident that the Order have unknowingly left him high and dry.

Yet there is no sign of self-pity or weakness from this man. Despite all that has happened to him, despite his grave injuries, he still carries himself with a sense of purpose. She senses his fierce intelligence and his single-minded determination.

She watches him for a while, boiling water and cooking the roots methodically. A sound distracts her and she turns, watching the entrance to her cell breathlessly. A loud metallic scraping noise echoes around her, followed by a loud groaning sound. She's on edge; her muscles taut and rigid as she waits expectantly.

"What now?" she whispers, glancing around nervously. "I don't —"

Heavy flowing water gushes out of a drain in the floor, pumping furiously into the cell. Rey jumps to her feet, staggering away quickly.

"What's that?" Ren says, pausing what he's doing. He's alert now, watching Rey warily. "I can't see —"

"I suspect they're trying to drown me, now," she laments, stepping up onto some exposed brickwork in an effort to find higher ground. She keeps the blanket high on her shoulders, avoiding the current swirling around her legs. "I —"

"Drown you?" He seems dubious. "I doubt —"

"Not on the Order's approved methods of torture?" she snarls sarcastically, appraising the walls carefully should she have to start climbing. "I've been beaten, broken, shocked, burnt, stabbed and hung from a hook, so drowning sounds awfully peaceful to me."

"I doubt you're being drowned. Ilan has a reservoir on site with a pressure release valve. It's probably —"

"Well, with the party going on upstairs, I doubt they'd even notice!" she says bitterly, somewhat worried as the water level continues to climb. "God, it's freezing —"

The water rushes to her waist before it seems to level out. It begins to subside again, receding back from where it came.

She's left dripping and cold again, but thankfully the blanket wrapped around her neck remains dry. She hopes Finn and the others have managed to avoid the flood.

"Typical," she mutters, kicking out at the remaining wet spots. She sighs heavily, on the verge of tears again. She wipes her face with shaking hands, struggling to compose herself. "I want to go home," she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself and walking the floor restlessly. "I can't do this for much longer. I just want to —"

"Use it," he says in a low voice, and she glances up from her frenetic pacing. "Channel it. Let the fear work for you. Let it work through you."

She laughs bitterly. "Oh, that would suit Hux's agenda quite perfectly, not to mention yours."

"Chop the head off a snake and it will continue fighting." He gestures towards her. "In the end, we're all rats in a maze. We do what we have to. We're conditioned to survive at all costs."

"Does that include committing patricide?" she retorts savagely, delighting at the furious expression that crosses his face. "The answers are easy for someone lacking a soul or a conscience!"

"Then get out of my head, girl!"

She moves toward him; wet and shivering — a complete contrast to the warmth and almost cosiness of his makeshift shelter.

"If the situation were reversed," she whispers. "If I was here under your authority… would my situation be any different? Would you seek to turn me?"

He doesn't answer, just glares back at her defiantly. His silence speaks volumes.

"I thought as much." She shakes her head, returning to the corner of the room. She sits cross-legged on the ground and turns her back on him. "Then the outcome would be the same; Ben. I'll eventually die by their hand or by yours."


	6. Chapter 6

It's hard to overcome the sheer brutality of this place. It's hard to comprehend that life continues on outside of this prison. It's hard to wake cold and shivering every morning and know that only pain, fear and potentially death await her.

Each beating takes its toll. Each furious, impatient assault saps a little more of her strength and resolve, and that scares her more than anything. She doesn't want to back down or show weakness, but she's tired now. So very tired.

Staunch courage has turned to cowering in the dark, waiting for the next furious strike. Indignant fury has been swept away, replaced by blind terror. The insults and screaming matches have evolved over time into impassioned begging and pleading for mercy, and she loathes herself for it with every fiber of her being.

The singed skin weeps painfully, ugly and infected, a constant reminder of the unceremonious branding received in the weeks before. Like she's nothing but an animal, something to possess. A stamp of ownership now marking her skin, seared deep within her flesh and her soul.

Death will eventually come. Rey feels it in her bones. She'll give herself freely to it; she'll welcome Death's winged arms cloaked snugly around her wasted body. She'll wait patiently for Him to steal her away from this misery, from this pathetic, relentlessly cruel existence she now finds herself in.

But when Rey is dragged back to her cell day after day, wounded and sobbing pitifully, the only certainty is that Death won't be waiting to steal her away. Death will not make an appearance… but _he_ will be there.

Kylo Ren will witness her crippled, broken body collapsing to the floor of her cell after another vicious round with Hux. _He_ will be there — a silent yet reluctant witness to the atrocities being committed by the very people he strove to lead, intent on cutting a bloody path of destruction through the galaxy.

Kylo Ren has no choice in the matter. Their shared existence of pain and suffering seems to have strengthened the bond between them and the knowledge fills Rey with a certain amount of subdued glee.

Even when they fling her to the floor after today's round of perpetual violence, her lip busted and her eyes blackened and swollen, she finds a grim satisfaction in the look of uncertainty that crosses Ren's usually dour face.

"Don't look so surprised," she mumbles through numbed lips once the troopers have retreated. "You've trained them well."

He says nothing though, just stares at the small fire lighting his current shelter for the night — a cave he's found within a jagged cliff face.

Ever the industrious Jedi.

It looks almost cosy, she thinks with a suppressed sob. She senses the smell of cooking meat and her mouth waters at the thought of it. The rumbles deep within the pit of her stomach are almost too painful to cope with.

She starts to cry, wretched sobs overcoming her body. Dashing tears away, she hugs her knees to her chest and turns her back on him, slumping against the wall until sleep finally takes over.

* * *

"Not much of a conversationalist, are you?" she mutters. The usual nervous ramblings that spew from her mouth have given way to antagonism and silent seething these days. The change is a welcome one.

He shrugs, jabbing a stick idly into the earth. "Guess not."

"Why?"

"Why not?" he challenges her, a bitter smile curling his lips. "I was brought up to be seen and not heard, after all."

Rey frowns, not quite believing the odd statement but choosing not to pursue it. She lets out a heavy sigh, prodding her swollen face with trembling fingers.

He's watching her now, eyeing her with something almost like pity. Almost. He gestures towards her. "Hux do that?"

"What do you think?" she says bitterly. "The man has a vicious streak."

"You have no idea," Ren mutters.

"What does that —"

"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree," he muses. "Although Hux has added a few more bad habits compared to his father."

Her cheekbone throbs as she packs ice on it. "Enlighten me."

"The man has a pre-disposition for violence against women." Ren looks her over, the disdain for his successor evident on his face. He dusts himself off and settles back. "Several reprimands over the years for beating prostitutes to a bloody pulp. Each record mysteriously wiped clean after each infraction."

"How?"

He shrugs again. "Friends in high places."

"You sound morally outraged for a man who thinks nothing of slaughtering defenceless Jedi students while they sleep," she mocks, and the resulting glare is worth it.

"There's a difference between crimes of war and crimes of twisted perversion —"

"There is little difference," she chastises. "You covet power through any means necessary. So does Hux, whether it be—"

"I fight for a cause, not for personal gratification."

"Oh," she snarls, her hand still clutching her cheek. "Sitting so high and mighty on your —"

"You call me high and mighty?" Ren laughs bitterly. "Even those in your beloved resistance crave power. My own mother can be counted amongst them, blindly ambitious to a fault —"

"There is nothing wrong with ambition! With wanting more for one's self and family—"

"There is something wrong when that vain ambition comes at the detriment of a child," he says quietly. His hands are bunched into fists, his mouth a hard line. "I was nothing but a disappointment in my efforts to please them, so I may as well be a disappointment for the reasons I choose to dictate."

"Oh, don't give me that," Rey snaps. "You had a family who loved you, yet you threw it all away for —"

"Love?" He shakes his head in wonder. "I was merely tolerated. I was resented for getting in the way of my mother's blossoming political career. Shuffled between strangers and only dragged out when I was deemed worthy enough for a press engagement or parliamentary photo opportunity —"

"Your mother loves you —"

"My mother blamed me!"

"Blamed you for what?"

"For my father deciding that returning to a life of petty crime was infinitely more appealing than pretending to be a family —"

"At least you had a family," she seethes. "Ungrateful —"

"You know nothing, girl." This time, it's Ren who turns away, and Rey closes her eyes wearily for a while, still processing his words.

He's a mass of contradictions, she realizes. He's a far more complex individual than she gave him credit for. She wonders just how much of Ben Solo remains in this jaded, conflicted version of himself. She wonders if they have more in common than she initially thought.

Eyes fluttering open, she watches him for a while. The strong line of his jaw is stubbornly set, the thick mop of black hair lying lankly against his pallid face. Those eyes are mesmerising; a deep, warm brown color, offset by long lashes. There's a quiet strength that lies within them, but she knows too well their propensity to change appearance during battle. From brown, to black, to the slightest tinge of yellow.

She's seen this change first hand, and it's a frightening sight. There's a calm before the storm with Kylo Ren. Contained and deadly silence can give way to a frightening violence on the turn of a dime. He both infuriates and intrigues her in equal measure.

She stares at him sullenly. "You lay claim to everything, and yet you have nothing."

The fire burns quietly as he seems to consider her words. His head is bowed, stooped in shadow.

"Then at least there's nothing left to lose," he murmurs, and her pulse quickens with recognition.

She nods, because she knows about loss. She knows how it feels to idealise a family she barely remembers. To daydream, to imagine the grand stories invented during childhood to justify her own abandonment to the harsh desert of Jakku.

Because her mind has already worked over dozens of potential answers to the question that plagued her thoughts and dreams for so long, for so many years.

 _She's a wealthy Coruscant princess, sent abroad to escape rogue traders from the outer fringes._

 _She's the daughter of rebel spies, suffering from amnesia soon after her arrival and taken in by the local criminal gangs; intent on hiding her true identity for a while._

 _She was kidnapped, dragged from the arms of loving parents and forced into servitude on Jakku. She still sees herself crying desolately — her small, bare feet buried in burning, hot sand, arms frantically outstretched towards the transport spiriting her abductors away._

But no.

It's easier to re-imagine what her eyes witnessed, rather than what her heart already knows.

That Rey is no one and nothing.

The man sitting so sullenly on the other side of the cell saw to that, her parentage tossed so casually into the conversation during their short time on the Supremacy. The resulting memory still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

"I remember you," she says abruptly, almost angrily. "I remember finally sensing you again."

"What?" he says, annoyed. "What are you —"

"When I was first brought here, when they broke my fingers." She nods towards her stiffened hand clutched with her rags. "You were furious. So angry. I felt it."

"Yeah," he says, frowning, not understanding.

She swallows nervously, feeling foolish. "I thought you were angry because they'd taken me."

He stares at a spot beyond her head, his face clouding over. "I knew they'd betrayed me. They took you without my knowledge and kept you secret. I realised then what they had planned. I knew they wanted me out of the picture and you to potentially replace me."

"That's why you were so angry?"

"Why else would I be?"

She rolls her eyes, unsurprised. "All right," she says through gritted teeth.

A reluctant smile passes over his face. "You're disappointed?"

"No," she mutters, embarrassed and for the first time that she can ever recall, he throws his head back and laughs. She's stunned and shocked at the resemblance he now bears to his dead father. He's got Han's cheeky smirk and charming arrogance down to a tee.

It's breathtakingly infectious, and despite the circumstances, she manages a self-conscious smile in return, wringing her hands restlessly in her lap.

"The next time Hux sends for you, I promise to be suitably outraged."

"Thank you," she says softly, flushing despite the cold. "I'll remember that after we've passed on from this realm."

"We're already ghosts, Rey from Jakku," he says simply. There's a pleasant weight and warmth to his words and she closes her eyes, basking in it. "Our bodies just haven't received the memo."


	7. Chapter 7

There's an uneasy alliance between them now, a bond forged through loneliness and mutual isolation. The tension between them has slowly faded over time, giving way to an almost friendly banter.

At times when she's alone, usually following an aggressive session with Hux and his goons, she feels those threads around her pulling together, indicating his impending presence.

It's never long before the quips start, and she's delighted to find that Kylo Ren has a snarky sense of humor, so similar to her own.

Days ago, it was an off-the-cuff comment about her poor housekeeping. She responds blithely, asking if he has a spare hand to help with the heavy lifting.

Yesterday, he announced his arrival into her world with a quietly sarcastic _honey, I'm home_. She snorts derisively, too weak to raise her hand and give him the middle finger.

She swears at him instead.

Today, he asks if the festering rags that hang from her body are the latest in female fashion. _Captivity apparel_ , she responds blithely, before asking how many shades of black upon black currently reside in his own goddamn wardrobe.

 _Try some colour, you washed-out excuse for a man._

He laughs at that.

Rey draws comfort in this new synchronicity. It takes her mind off things, allowing herself to shape a new reality.

The tables have turned. No longer sullen and reticent, he talks freely now, without reservation, and she listens intently.

He reminisces about his childhood, entertaining Rey with countless stories. He's factual and straightforward, without a hint of melancholy or wistfulness.

It's like he can bulldoze through the details with a vague detachment she covets so desperately for herself.

 _If we could all be so unburdened by the past._

He tells her about the time he made a rudimentary plasma bomb with friends several steps below his own level of family affluence. Dirty-faced, wide-eyed miscreants the lot of them, they always drew Leia's staunch disapproval, but the young Ben Solo had cared little.

Rey is open-mouthed when he describes the moment they realised the fuse was activated, and the moment of sheer panic when all five kids were faced with what to do with it.

The fresher remodelling was extensive. His mother went ballistic. His father was duly impressed.

Ben describes the rampant sneaking out at night, taking the Falcon out for a spin without permission. The wilful defiance in the face of countless tutors and nanny droids who helped to facilitate his upbringing.

Still, he talks, and she listens, enthralled with his life of privilege and his refusal to stay bound within the constraints of royalty and esteem.

Rey both admires and abhors him for it.

More time passes, more revelations unfurl, uncoiling from a place he'd long since buried.

He talks freely about his father, unburdened by sentiment. Ben recalls the gold dice hanging in the cockpit, how he loved to play with them.

He recalls Chewbacca with a warmth that surprises her, admitting that he always preferred Kashyyyk's primitive way of life to the pristine but soulless world he was brought up in.

There's something honest in that, and it's no surprise to Rey that he's coping so well after being marooned on such a dense, uninhabited planet.

He almost seems at home there. Had he not been so gravely injured, she feels Ben would quite happily serve out his time until the end of days.

He talks more about Han Solo, the enigma, the legend. Big shoes to fill for a gangly, pale boy who was desperate to learn but had to share his main role model with the gangs, criminals and underworld elements spread through distant outposts.

He speaks about the way people would stop and whisper to one another when Han and Leia entered the room. About the stories, over-embelished somewhat, pertaining to their grand adventures.

He talks of Luke. He speaks freely about Vader. The Death Star. The Battle of Endor. His parent's eventual marriage. His father's ever-roving eye.

Once a scoundrel, always a scoundrel.

 _Did you love your father?_ she asks breathlessly.

 _Yes,_ he admits. _Yes, I did._ _Right up until the moment I killed him._

There's no apology. There's no defence, no grovelling excuses; just a weary acceptance.

At that moment, they could be anyone. They're lost souls, kindred spirits. They're Rey and Ben, sitting on opposite sides of this stinking, fetid cell, talking like old friends — as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

* * *

The timid man in officer's stripes has returned, bearing more food than he's probably allowed to deliver. She thanks him profusely, her hands shaking as she takes possession of the cooling roasted meat and vegetables on her plate.

Rey briefly wonders if the food belonged to the officer. Perhaps the man overloaded his plate at dinner, ensuring there was enough to bring down to her later.

The thought comforts her.

His ongoing kindness makes her cry. She sits blubbering over her meal as he departs, stuffing her face as hot, wet tears streak down her face, pooling amongst the soggy cabbage and greens.

"The food can't be that bad," Ben mutters.

"It's really, really good," she sobs pathetically, spearing a large morsel and ignoring Ben's amused expression. "That officer always brings me more than he should."

"He's a corporal, actually. Pretty low in the pecking order."

"Perhaps he should be higher?" she mumbles through a mouth stuffed full of food. "Perhaps a promotion is in order should the overly pompous title of Supreme Leader be bestowed upon you again."

"A promotion? I doubt that would suit the imperial agenda."

"Why does that not surprise me?" Rey swallows her food, jabbing her fork in Ben's direction. "It's the men with the least amount of humanity who end up with the most influence."

"That's the way it's always been."

"That's why it's wrong," she mutters indignantly. "I could write a book on the First Order's many failings."

"Really?" He seems surprised. Education is a privilege only enjoyed by the wealthiest and elite. "Do you know how to read and write?"

"No," she challenges hotly. She jabs her fork towards him again. "But my blank pages would be filled with the best of intentions."

He laughs hard at that, his face once again transformed. Ben wipes his eyes, his body shaking as he struggles to control himself.

Rey frowns. "Are you laughing at my uneducated —"

He shakes his head with a smile, eyeing her curiously. "No, not at all. I'm admiring your honesty."

"Oh."

She eats in a comfortable silence for a while, watching Ben as he stands and stretches. It's easier to call him that now, to refer to him by his birth name.

The name Kylo Ren belongs to a killer. The name Ben Solo belongs to a man. In this place, with her, that's what he is. He's just a man.

He's become the light in her darkening world, and she holds this knowledge close to her heart. Kylo Ren is the purveyor of death, and there's a delightful inconsistency in the fact that Ben Solo is the only thing keeping Rey alive.

* * *

"This is getting tiresome," Hux goads. He flicks her in the center of the forehead, more to annoy her than anything else. "I'm a patient man, however —"

"I heard otherwise," she mutters. "Just kill me and get it over with."

"We have all the time in the world, little girl."

"I'm delighted to hear that," she spits through clenched teeth, perspiration pouring from her. She's sick again, suffering an infection of sorts. "But you're wasting your time. We're going around in circles."

"It took eighteen months of _treatment_ to get results for one poor test subject." Hux paces around her threateningly, running his hand down the line of her ribs. "Not the results they were hoping for, though."

She pretends she doesn't care, hanging yet again from the same damned chains tethered to the ceiling, shivering despite the intense sweating.

"Broke his poor brain. Sent him insane." Hux pats her cheek condescendingly. "I believe you'll make us proud, however."

"We'll see how proud you are when my saber buries itself in your gut," she whispers. "You'll be dead before you hit the —"

"CONTROL MEASURES!" he bellows with maniacal glee, causing Rey to jerk away in shock, but he grabs her hips and pulls them closer, grinding her against him. She can feel him, hard and rigid against her thigh, prodding her almost eagerly. She squirms further when his hand reaches beneath her tattered robes and cups the rounded flesh of her bottom.

"GET OFF ME!" she cries, trying in vain to wrench away from him. Ben's words about Hux's past flash worriedly in her mind as he grabs the back of her neck and pulls her close until she's face to face with him, nose to nose.

His breath is hot and stinking in her face, his eyes glazed, and she wonders if his own thinly-veiled control is slipping. That scares her more than anything. Hux hasn't exactly been restrained, but there seems to be an invisible line drawn in regard to how far to take things.

That line is becoming more blurred as the days pass.

There are other officers in the room, and she glances around desperately, pleadingly, almost reassuring herself that he wouldn't take liberties, not with so many witnesses watching.

"Control measures, darling," he says again, before leaning in, his lips passing close to her ear.

He speaks softly now, so only the two of them can hear; a creepy, unwanted intimacy that makes her skin crawl.

"I have a chip the size of a fingernail imbedded within your spinal vertebrae." Her eyes widen, and he squeezes her neck painfully. "Right here at the top. Implanted when you first arrived. The moment you go rogue, the moment you try to betray me, your head takes a permanent vacation from your body."

She gazes back at him fearfully, and he leans closer, his whispered words a veiled threat.

"The moment my own heart stops beating, that chip is programmed to paint the walls with your blood and brain matter. Do you understand?"

"I —"

"Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispers, her voice small and pitiful.

"I'm not a fool, Rey. One has to have an insurance policy these days." He shrugs, gripping her face hard and squeezing her cheeks painfully. "One can never be too careful."

He smacks her ass, hard and stinging as her body wobbles precariously against the chains. Hux sighs, eyeing the eclectic crowd of officers and troopers gathered by the door, watching the proceedings curiously. He releases Rey, shoving her and leaving her limp body swinging idly before striding away.

"Get her down," he commands. "Leave the face. Might be time to rebreak some of those fingers —"

"NO!" She shrieks, twisting and bucking away from them, clenching her hands into fists involuntarily. She can stand the beatings, but her fingers are a whole other story. Hot bile starts rising from the pit of her stomach and she swallows it down, panic-stricken. "OH PLEASE, OH NO! NO!"

She's not a religious woman, but she's praying now, her voice high-pitched and impassioned as they unhook her tethers and drag her free. She's flung to the floor and held face-down, her wrists pinned above her head as she drags shallow air into lungs, gasps for mercy.

The dreadful pliers are produced and she eyes them fearfully, still crying. They clamp down with an awful familiarity. A snap, and an exquisite pain surges through her, worse than last time due to the tendon damage and swelling from before.

Screaming into the roughened floor, the next finger is wrenched viciously, then a third. She barely registers her other hand receiving the same, wretched treatment. It's the sound that horrifies her the most. The unbridled violence as the bones break and splinter. The ferocity.

They'll never retain their proper movement again. She knows this.

She's still screaming when they heft her bucking body upwards and back toward the cell. She thinks she glimpses Ben's worried face amongst the rabble of undulating stiff uniforms. She wonders if he saw any of that.

She wonders bitterly if he cares.

She wonders if the rebel alliance can hear her screams.

She wonders why she's been left here to die.

She wonders, and curses, and howls at the injustice of that thought.

Abandoned by her parents to servitude in the sands of Jakku for drink money that wouldn't have lasted the week.

Abandoned by her friends.

Abandoned by Skywalker, who refused to complete her training.

Abandoned by the resistance who — without doubt — must know she's here, but have left her to die in agony within these putrid cells.

Is she so unworthy of effort? Unworthy of time, or conscious thought? So unlovable? Rey might as well be invisible. She's quicksand; fast and fluid. Sinking and struggling, reaching out, craving acknowledgement of her existance, but no one ever hears her calling for help. No one hears her screams.

She's no one and nothing, after all.

The cell door is flung open and she's dropped like a stone to the floor, barely hearing the gate swing shut and locked again, their voices trailing away. Rey drags herself across the floor on her elbows and knees, still sobbing, inching her way towards the dinner plate lying discarded by the wall.

She can't do this any more. She can't maintain this. She's done.

Rey has reached her limit.

The fork awaits, silver and polished to a high shine, a contrast to everything else in this forsaken place. It beckons seductively, calling to her with a startling clarity.

One jab, between the ribs and deep into the heart. Perhaps a jagged slice across the throat, or through the thin veins of her wrists, her blood spurting hot and thick over her wasted, filthy skin.

One moment to put an end to the dozens more that await her. Her poor fingers; mangled and twisted, outstretched in an effort to reach that expensive piece of silverware. It's probably worth more than her entire stash of personal belongings. The fork is another stark reminder of what she's worth. Of what others possess, but she does not.

Or ever will.

"Rey."

Ben's quiet voice barely cuts through the haze, but her single-minded determination overcomes all else.

She can't grip the fucking fork.

Can't grasp it, only able to nudge it with her thumb somewhat, moving it about but unable to grab a hold of it.

Even the means and method to commit suicide have seemingly abandoned her.

 _Nothing and no one, after all_.

A gentle hand descends on her back, it's presence warm and soothing. Ben leans over her prone and writhing figure, crouching down beside her. He moves to grab her wrist in an effort to drag her hand away from the offending item, but Rey panics as he hovers too close to her damaged fingers.

"DON'T TOUCH THEM!" she screams deliriously, seemingly in the midst of a complete breakdown. "DON'T YOU TOUCH THEM! DON'T, I CAN'T… THERE'S TOO MANY! I CAN'T DO IT ANYMORE!"

Unable to push the fork out of her reach, Ben wraps his arm around her waist instead and lifts her, still kicking and bucking. He carries her back to his side of the cell, to the place he's closely guarded during their months in captivity. Where she's never ventured.

But she's here now, in his space. In his little fortress of solitude, a mere 20 feet from her own, where the constant glow of his fire seems so much more desirable than the real estate on the other side of the room; gloomy and repressed.

She sags heavily to the floor and he follows her downward movement until she's slumped between his legs, her back propped upright against the solid weight of his chest.

Ben's quiet, smoothing the sweaty hair away from her eyes, his chin resting companionably on her shoulder. His touch is surprisingly gentle; his breath is warm and moist on her neck.

Rey feels herself falling, lulled by the steady rhythm of his breathing.

"Don't touch them," she whispers, her broken fingers clutched against her chest. "Not yet."

"I won't."

Unconsciousness beckons. Rey gives herself freely to it. It's a poor substitute for Death, but she's willing to take on any brief reprieve that comes her way.

She nothing and no one — but right now, in this moment in time, in this abysmal existence she's found herself in, she's something to someone.

And for the moment, she finds comfort in that.


End file.
